


Untempered

by SilverThunder



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 02:12:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4942744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverThunder/pseuds/SilverThunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yata fights with Fushimi, but it doesn't end there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untempered

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** This is not my usual type of fanfic. Set during/after the flashback fighting sequence in the first episode of ROK, so unhealthy relationship dynamics per canon, plus smut.
> 
> Thank you to [dropletons](http://dropletons.tumblr.com) for reading this over and being patient with me while I worked out the issues with it - you're the best!

The rush from the fight was pumping fast through all the veins in Yata's body even as his back hit the wall, and his reflexes were quick enough that he was dodging the knives almost before Saruhiko had released them, familiar with the quick motions that went along with the attacks. One of them managed to catch the bottom edge of his shirt sleeve, pinning him temporarily, and as his brain caught up to that bit of inconvenience, Saruhiko's sword was at his throat - followed closely by Saruhiko's hand bracing close to his head and then Saruhiko himself leaning in close.

_Fucking traitor!_  Yata's brain spat at him, almost on reflex, but he wasn't quite feeling it. Saruhiko was smirking at him with almost manic excitement gleaming in his eyes, and the exhilaration that came from the battle - a battle with no particular reason, just the two of them throwing their full strength at each other without restraint - formed up wild and powerful in Yata's chest. He felt the responding grin spreading on his face and didn't bother to try to stop it, meeting the intensity in his former friend's eyes even as his heart thundered behind his ribs and a prickling sensation crept out fast across his skin.

He felt so alive - so strong; so  _free_  - somehow in that moment, and he wasn't sure whether he wanted to burst into laughter or shout wordlessly at the top of his lungs.

"What now, Mi~sa~ki~?" Saruhiko demanded, drawing the words out with the usual gleeful malice - and almost before he'd finished speaking, Yata was spinning his weapon with his free hand, aiming for and hitting the hand holding that stupid blue sword and knocking it aside.

"Heh!" An experimental tug at the pinned arm didn't loosen anything, but he could deal with that later; he had enough freedom of movement as it was. "Does that answer your question,  _Saru_?" As he spat the name out, he was already moving with a follow-up kick at Saruhiko's side.

Responding to the taunt had cost him, apparently; it gave Saruhiko enough time to catch both his bearings and then Yata's leg before it could make contact, sword dropping and body twisting to avoid the force of the blow. It brought him in closer, landing heavily against his pinned opponent, the arm braced at Yata's side bending and its elbow pressing hard against Yata's shoulder.

"Ch - ! Bastard!" The insult came out less sharp than Yata would've liked - his tone was rough, but it fell flat in both volume and intensity. He was in a much more awkward spot now, unable to easily recover mobility in either his arm or his leg, and with Saruhiko's weight adding much more pressure. He could activate his aura and burst free on that alone, but -

He didn't know what the 'but' was.

The harsh sound of their heavy, mingled breathing carried loudly in the sudden stillness.

_Why's he not moving?_  Yata's heart was still racing with frantic adrenaline, mind still caught up in the thrill of the fight and the excitement exchanged every time their eyes had met. Like electricity snapping through his body - through  _their_  bodies - as they moved together and passed that feeling back and forth, intensity increasing with each volley. Now, beneath the sweat and grime, he could easily catch Saruhiko's unique scent, and it hit him with sudden and painfully stark nostalgia, mingling in with everything else and rising at the back of his throat like it was aiming to choke him.

Without thinking, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, riding out the torrent of mixed feelings and desires he couldn't have even started to sort out. When he opened them Saruhiko's head was raised, face directly in front of his, so close he couldn't focus on all of it at once.

Yata inhaled again, sharply, something clenching tight in his gut, and found himself unable to place what looked like desperate emotion in those cool blue eyes. Something in that familiar gaze called out to him, and with his head still caught up in the rush and nerves on edge, he was responding without even thinking, pulled in by a mix of instinct and mindless need.

The jolt that shot through him when their lips met was like the kind of shudder that came with extreme cold, although Saruhiko's mouth was warm - and trembling. Part of that might have been him, too; Yata could feel the tremor in his own limbs, kind of like background noise against the central focus that was this awkward, hesitant kiss. He was still moving on instinct rather than conscious thought, reacting rather than planning, feeling the drive to respond quickly and follow along with what his body was telling him. At the back of his mind, he thought he might've been shocked by it, but at a much deeper level, there was a kind of growing hunger - a feeling that gave the impression that it had been crouching on a back shelf at the core of his being, waiting for its chance to pounce.

_I want... this..._

Even as that unexpected thought hit, Saruhiko pressed in against him with a kind of frantic desperation, breath stuttering against Yata's cheek, and suddenly it was a race to keep up.

He couldn't properly collect his own thoughts as his head hit the wall behind him, with Saruhiko's mouth mashing clumsily against his, but probably something like 'this is nuts' was in there. What coursed through his head most strongly, while outside sounds and sights faded off into ignore-space and heat spun up in the space between his body and Saruhiko's, were things like 'yes' and 'finally' and 'don't stop'.

_Saruhiko!_

Dimly, Yata was aware of his weapon sliding free of his fingers; of the dull thud it made when it hit the ground. Every nerve ending on his body felt like it was vibrating with  _want_. He reached out with his suddenly free hand and grasped the back of Saruhiko's neck to pull him in closer, opening his mouth instinctively and swallowing the small, almost whining noise his former partner made in response. His tongue brushed against the soft downward curve of Saruhiko's lip and it felt like something in the pit of his stomach burst into flame. He wanted to explode.

Saruhiko broke away from him just long enough to mumble, "Misaki," in an oddly broken-up tone, before pressing in again, harsh and awkward, his movements tense and jerky. The kiss broke, resumed, and then broke again - little moments of contact that caused Yata's fingers to twitch and his muscles to tense. His pinned arm tugged against its restraint a couple of times in automatic response, and then he shifted the leg that Saruhiko had caught around so that he could brace the heel at the small of his opponent's back and tug him in to bring their bodies flush.

That brought a noise from both of them, muffled where their mouths joined, and Yata's fevered brain suffered another dizzying moment of confusion and desire at the increase in heat and sensation. Saruhiko's hips seemed to fit perfectly in the space where his leg bent out from his body, like the final piece in a very simple puzzle. The motion also straightened Saruhiko's posture and Yata suddenly had to tip his head back to keep the kiss going, but the uncomfortable angle barely registered against the feel of that lean body pressed against his, making contact at all the most important places.

Saruhiko was the one to open his mouth first this time, although Yata was quick to follow suit. The little shuddering gasp from his partner at the first weird, slick brush of their tongues felt like it echoed all the way down through his own body and settled between his legs in a pleasant ache. His cock gave a little twitch of interest, and Yata jerked his hips forward with mindless aggression, looking for both friction and some proof of reciprocated lust. Saruhiko ran his tongue along the roof of Yata's mouth, drawing out a startled moan, and pushed back, the unmistakable hard lump of his erection brushing up against where Yata's was rapidly forming.

He wouldn't have expected the feel of another man's dick rubbing against his to be that much of a turn-on. But then, this was Saruhiko, after all. Yata made another low, affected noise into his former friend's mouth, hips jerking forward again. He was shaking with anticipation, limbs tense, and he could feel Saruhiko's movements becoming erratic, slender fingers clutching a handful of Yata's shirt as they humped against each other with clumsy, frantic need.

The awkward tilt of his neck got to be too much after several moments of sloppy, open-mouthed kissing, and Yata broke away, bending his head forward and using his grip on the back of Saruhiko's neck to bring him in so he could run his tongue up that pale column of skin and tendon. Saruhiko shuddered in response, making a small sound like a whimper, and tilted his head to the side as if seeking further attention. Yata could feel the thrum of pulse just under that delicate jawline, as hard and fast as the beating of his own heart.

It was intoxicating and it made his blood feel like it was on fire. He groaned against Saruhiko's throat, feeling his cock straining against the confines of his pants, and thrust forward mindlessly in search of the little jolts of pleasure that shot up from his lower body as they rubbed sineously against each other.

"Misaki," Saruhiko moaned out loud, voice cracking with something desperate and needy, and again, " _Misaki_ ," as he ground against Yata, breathing raggedly.

Something seemed to break within him, and all at once the level of contact was not enough. "Saruhiko," Yata ground out, vaguely shocked by the tense, ragged need in his own voice, and released his partner's neck so that he could squirm his hand down between them, fumbling with the button on his shorts. His fingers were shaking badly; when he spoke again, his voice sounded high and strange, laced with unfamiliar arousal. "Let me... I want..."

His breath caught as he felt Saruhiko's hand join his, hastily undoing the fastenings of his own pants. "Misaki," he murmured again, his tone thick with desire and a longing that tugged at Yata's heart. When he pulled his face back from the curve of Saruhiko's neck and looked up, their eyes met, and it felt like being struck in the chest, a sudden pressure squeezing against him until he couldn't breathe. Saruhiko's eyes were dark with want, wavering noticeably behind his glasses, and in Yata's peripheral vision he could see the flush against that pale skin. It matched with the heat he felt on his own, a blend of lust and the faint edges of embarrassment at his own wanton actions. Trying not to think too hard about it, Yata reached into the slit in his boxers and pulled his aching dick from its confines.

He didn't really have time to feel awkward about it, because in the next instant, Saruhiko was leaning in against him, and he could feel the press of another hard, warm cock against his, long fingers wrapped loosely around it. The sensation - along the knowledge of just exactly what they were about to do - was unbelievably erotic. Another thin tendril of arousal wound up from between his legs, and he only just managed to stifle another moan.

Yata was starting to see stars at the edge of his vision - he sucked in a shuddering breath, watching Saruhiko's eyes cloud over with desire. There was moisture leaking from the tip of his erection, and he slid his thumb over it, biting his lip with the rush of pleasure even as he moved right on to run the digit over the wet head of his partner's dick as well.

Saruhiko made a half-strangled sound, eyes closing briefly and shivering against Yata's body. When he opened them again, they were narrowed and hot, and Yata barely had time to feel the anticipation build at the core of his belly before Saruhiko's fingers were reaching out to wrap around his cock as well, stroking up over both of them, and - oh.

Fuck.  _Fuck._

"Sa... ha... Saru..." His leg clenched against his partner's side, muscles tensing as pleasure flooded his nerves. He couldn't even bother to be embarrassed at the desperate rise in his voice; couldn't hold back from spreading his own fingers and catching the rhythm of Saruhiko's stroking, thrusting up against their hands and the slick friction between their dicks.

It felt so  _good_... He couldn't believe how good it felt. His body was strung up so tightly he thought he might snap.

"Mi... saki..." Saruhiko's face twisted suddenly, and he leaned down to catch Yata's mouth with his, forcing his tongue in almost immediately with frantic, sloppy desperation. Yata made a little whine into the contact, but pressed back up with equal force, squeezing his eyes shut at the building tension in his groin.

He wanted to come. Outside of that steadily mounting need, everything else was fading out into an insignificant blur. His hips jerked hard against their shared hold, and he thought,  _I'm going to come. On Saruhiko's hand. On Saruhiko's dick._  And that was it.

His mouth wrenched free of the kiss as he let out an unrestrained cry, stiffening up and arching away from the wall with the release. It felt like he was shattering into pieces, caught up in the thralls of pleasure he'd never felt before - the deep, heady satisfaction of an orgasm brought on by another person. The hot, sticky fluid that spilled from the tip of his dick as he twitched helplessly through the rush spread with the motions of their hands, and Saruhiko's thumb even swiped over it, prompting a full-body jerk and a startled moan at the borderline-uncomfortable contact on his over-sensitive head.

It was several more deep, erratic thrusts into their conjoined hands before Saruhiko shuddered against him and made a small sound like a whimper, spilling more warm liquid between them as his body shook.

They slumped against the wall, all tension spent, and Yata let his leg slide down from around Saruhiko's waist. He was starting to feel the strain now in his other leg as his body cooled and relaxed in the aftermath. He was exhausted. Drained. Physical satisfaction seeped through to every nerve ending as the sound of their heavy panting echoed in the still air.

And, as he came down, reality started to re-impose itself.

_Fuck... Shit. What did I... What did we... ?_

He could feel Saruhiko tense up almost as soon as the thoughts entered his head, and all at once the warm weight on his body lifted. The distinct, familiar sound of his former friend's tongue clicking followed, and Yata tilted his head back against the wall, letting it hit with a loose thud and opening his eyes to stare up at the dark sky above them.

Somehow, with the chaotic storm in his mind, he couldn't bring himself to look at Saruhiko.

"Shit," he muttered out loud, an embarrassing warble in his voice, and twisted his lips into a grimace, bringing his arm up to rest over his face.

It was hard to believe he'd done that - that  _they_  had done that. It felt unreal.

Yata's legs were starting to shake. As his peripheral vision caught Saruhiko pulling away further and tugging clothing back into order - a little too sharply, almost with jerky motions - he lowered his soiled hand without really thinking and yanked out the knife that pinned his shirt to the wall, throwing it carelessly against the wall beside him with a tinny clatter. He turned his gaze down to watch it hit the the ground, not certain what else to do, feeling dazed and a bit numb with the release of the adrenaline that had surged through his veins earlier. His body still thrummed, over-sensitive, skin prickling with the remnants of tension and pleasure - a bittersweet blend of freshly woken feelings and the unpleasant certainty of where this would lead.

He felt as well as heard Saruhiko reach up to pull loose the second knife beside his head - a small brush of air by his cheek and the rustle of that blue uniform - but didn't look up. His heart was pounding even harder than before, hammering painfully and frantically against his chest, like some kind of wild animal desperate to be released. Even with that ringing loudly in his ears, he could hear Saruhiko's uneven breathing as he retrieved the third knife and his sword, sheathing the latter with a sharp slide and click. Then he turned abruptly on his heel, beginning to step firmly in the opposite direction.

Neither of them had said a single word to the other.

_Yeah, go ahead and walk away. Like you always do._  Yata clenched his teeth together, to the point of discomfort. It was easier to let the familiar anger wash over him. "Fucking traitor," he snarled out finally, glaring at the abandoned knife on the ground beside him and aiming the words at the back of its owner.

Saruhiko's steps faltered, and then paused. For what felt like a long moment, he was still.

The tension in the air was almost unbearable.  _Say something, will you?_

Then, in a mumble so low it was almost inaudible, "That's right. Keep looking at me like that. Misaki."

It didn't make any sense, but somehow that pressure against Yata's chest was back. He was struck with a sudden, desperate urge to see Saruhiko's face - to get some clue, a hint,  _anything_  that might give away what his former friend was thinking - but when he raised his eyes, Saruhiko was already walking away, his back to Yata and his pace increasing with every step.

As if he couldn't wait to leave.

Yata's energy seemed to drain out of him in a rush; his throat swelled and his eyes stung threateningly as he gave his legs a break and slid down the wall to sit heavily on the ground.  _Damnit._  He raised his clean hand and pressed the heel of it into the bridge of his nose, trying to summon up his rage from before. Anything to quell the hurt seeping out from the cavity in his heart where his closest friend was once kept.

All he could manage to feel was hollow frustration.


End file.
